


Andrew Minyard vs. The World

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew is a disaster gay, Cats, First Dates, Friendship, Gratuitous lesbians, Multi, Pining, Riko who, Scott Pilgrim AU, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World AU, lots of snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 22:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17712704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: In order to date Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard must fight his seven protective best friends.





	Andrew Minyard vs. The World

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Alexis for the quick beta read! This is mostly based on the Scott Pilgrim movie but it's not a retelling of the movie plot so... I hope it makes sense, haha.
> 
> Now with optional [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/moon-ix/playlist/4DXSWRiHALIslnFEbfyyon?si=JZe2LjC3SnWSnXXgcsnWRA) eyyy

Andrew Minyard hates the library.

He hates the local library in his neighbourhood in particular but also all libraries in general, and book stores even more so. An unfortunate side effect of this is that he has to order his books online, which means the doorbell inevitably rings at an ungodly hour in the morning, by which he means 10 AM on a Saturday, and he has to undergo the humiliating process of signing for his parcel in his pyjamas.

Today’s delivery boy wears bright orange roller skates and has electric pink hair and thighs that could pop Andrew’s head like a snowberry if Andrew ever had the pleasure of being allowed between them.

“Andrew Minyard?”

“That’s my twin,” Andrew’s mouth says, because he’s an idiot. The delivery boy of his wet dreams holds out the books Andrew ordered, all terribly written, historically inaccurate historical erotica that Andrew reads for the sole reason of long-distance spiting Kevin.

“Sign here.”

He doesn’t say please, which doesn’t bode well for his future in customer service but endears him to Andrew. Since for the time being the guy is still in customer service there’s no non-creepy way Andrew can hit on him, so Andrew takes the form and scrawls his name on it before remembering he’s supposed to be Aaron right now.

Delivery boy doesn’t even look. He skates off in his bright orange roller skates, sending up a spray of snow and ice and trailing a small cloud of frozen breath. Andrew squints at the damp, misshapen patchwork quilt of clouds in the sky and retreats inside, where it’s not much warmer but at least his eyelashes don’t feel like carefully crafted ice sculptures anymore.

“Ooh, new books?” Renee asks where she’s buried underneath five blankets and the most hideous bathrobe in existence which Andrew is convinced is hers and Renee swears belongs to him. Andrew tears open the package and hands over one of the books in exchange for a cup of hot chocolate. Today’s flavour of the day is salted caramel.

“Do you know the new delivery guy?” Andrew mumbles into his marshmallows, barely audible.

“I knew it,” Renee gloats. “You think he’s hot.”

“Hot? Who said anything about hot? You must be hallucinating because it’s so cold.” After a moment of deliberation, he adds: “Don’t tell Nicky.”

“Hey, you know me,” Renee hums, rainbow-painted nails clacking away gently on her phone as she types.

“Who are you texting?”

“You know me,” Renee says again. “His name is Neil Josten, by the way. He has two cats and a tragic past. Be nice to him.”

“Neil Josten,” Andrew sighs. “I want to give him things. Like expensive cars and blowjobs.”

His phone rings, cutting the fantasy short.

“Oh my god,” Nicky shouts the second Andrew picks up. “Neil Josten! I knew it.”

“No,” Andrew says. “How do you know that, anyway?”

“Renee told me. Listen, are you coming to my party or what? Rumour has it Neil’s gonna be there. Rumour has it he’s single.”

“Tell Renee I hate her,” Andrew says. Renee blows him a kiss that he blocks with his middle finger. They have a brief finger fight while Nicky gushes about his party and Andrew tunes him out.

“See you Friday, then,” Nicky sings.

“I’m not coming to your stupid party,” Andrew says and hangs up.

~

“Andrew, so glad you could make it,” Nicky beams on Friday when Andrew shows up at his house with the second-cheapest bottle of wine from the nearest store. Renee is already there, demurely entangled with a long-legged blonde on the couch. Andrew throws a few peanuts at her in passing, but she doesn’t react. He gets himself a plastic cup of Erik’s horrid cherry and banana punch and makes a lazy circuit of the room with his back to the wall, looking for a hint of pink hair.

“If you’re looking for Neil, drop it,” Aaron greets him solemnly.

“Who’s Neil?” Andrew says.

“Cut the shit,” Aaron hisses, stabbing a finger into Andrew’s personal space bubble. “And stay the hell away from him. I explicitly forbid you to ask him out.”

“Or what?” Andrew asks.

“Or what indeed,” Aaron replies ominously and disappears in the crowd. A gap opens in his wake for a moment and a gust of light sweeps over the figure of Neil Josten, gently rustling his edges.

The hair, it turns out, has morphed into an aquatic shade of green since Andrew last saw him, but the boy underneath the floppy bangs is still the same. Andrew inches closer, gripping his cup and wishing he’d worn any of the five other black t-shirts he owns rather than the one he’s wearing right now.

“Neil Josten,” he says, “terrible customer service, two cats and a tragic past. What happened to the other delivery guy? Did you kill him?”

Neil twitches a little, but it still looks hot. When Andrew twitches, it’s more like a frog being electrocuted. He wonders how Neil does it.

“Andrew Minyard, not a morning person, five black t-shirts and the world’s crappiest garage band. Yeah, Matt warned me about you.”

“Six,” Andrew says. “Who the hell is Matt?”

“Dan’s boyfriend. Dan told him that Allison heard from Renee that you think I’m hot.”

“Oh, no, she must have misunderstood. I said I hope you rot.”

One of Neil’s eyebrows flicks upwards like an aborted question mark.

“Do you know Pac-Man,” Andrew says. The question mark inverts itself into a semicolon, cutting off whatever Neil was gearing up to say next.

“No,” he says slowly, glancing around. “Why, is he here?”

Andrew sighs.

“Do you want to see the world’s crappiest garage band live,” he asks, taking a mouthful of his punch and spitting it back into the cup immediately.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Neil checks, amused. He has a dimple in his cheek. It looks out of place, like some mischievous goblin left a footprint there when his face was still soft and malleable. Disgusting. Not hot at all.

“That would be stupid,” Andrew says. “Since I hate you.”

“Okay,” Neil says. “When do you play?”

“Tomorrow. At the battle of the bands or whatever. Don’t bother coming, it’s awful.”

“Right,” Neil says, sipping at his cup. He’s drinking Erik’s punch even though no one can stomach Erik’s punch, not even Nicky who claims to love everything about Erik including his punch. Andrew waits, but Neil just continues to sip calmly at his cup.

“It starts at eight,” Andrew says, just in case.

~

“We’re doomed,” Jeremy says. His face looks pixelated with panic and he’s clutching both Alvarez’ and Laila’s hands. “Everything is awful, we’re the crappiest garage band in existence, and we are going to fail.”

“What would we do without your pep talks, Jeremy,” Alvarez sighs. She’s officially their background vocalist, but mostly she’s just in it for Laila. Jeremy makes a noise like a guinea pig being stepped on and Laila pulls her drumsticks out of the coiled extravaganza of braids on top of her head.

“Let’s at least fail in style,” she says, pulling Jeremy onto the stage.

“There is no failing in style,” Jeremy protests. “The very nature of failure is unstylish.”

Andrew scans the crowd as he shoulders his bass guitar. Renee is there with the leggy blonde from the party. Nicky and Erik are cosied up in a corner and Aaron is glaring at Andrew like he blames him personally for everything that’s ever gone wrong in his life. He’s right, probably. Young Robin is there, of course, because she idolises Andrew and because she is the band’s biggest and only fan. She is wearing a handmade band t-shirt and has dyed blue streaks in her hair for the occasion. Andrew gives her a little nod and she flashes him two thumbs-up, then points sideways along the gallery to where Neil is standing with a tall, gloomy-faced man.

Andrew’s stomach ties itself into a Gordian knot. He has the sudden impulse to smash his guitar on stage and leave, go far away and start a new life as a lighthouse keeper or a sheep herder.

“Hi, we are the band and we’re here to suck,” Jeremy announces into the microphone. Laila starts the beat before he’s finished and the rest of them belly-flop awkwardly into the song, but Andrew only has eyes for Neil. Before he knows it they’re done with the set and the tall, gloomy-faced man is standing in front of Andrew with a bass guitar of his own.

“Andrew Minyard,” he announces, “prepare to be obliterated.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man blinks.

“Jean Moreau,” he says. “Neil’s first protective best friend. Did… you not get my e-mail?”

Andrew thinks back to this morning when he spent a half hour painstakingly deleting all the spam in his inbox.

“I skimmed it,” he says. Jeremy hisses. Laila plays a half-hearted ba-dum-tss on her drums.

“Rude,” Moreau sniffs. “Prepare to be extra obliterated.”

“I never expected to live past twenty,” Andrew shrugs. “I am always prepared for my own untimely demise. You might even say I’ve come to be comforted by the thought that I can exit this life at any moment.”

Moreau thinks this over, letting his guitar pick dance over his knuckles in a transparent attempt at intimidating him.

“That’s definitely a mood,” Moreau says. “I’m still going to obliterate you.”

“Why are we doing this, again?”

“Because,” Moreau grits out impatiently, “if you want to date Neil, you’ll have to fight his seven protective BFFs first.”

“Wait, how can you have seven best friends?” Alvarez asks. “I thought the whole point of a best friend was that everybody only has one.”

“Neil is special,” Moreau snaps back. “We formed a league after the last time some asshole tried to date him.”

“Go Andrew!” Renee shouts down from the gallery. Neil looks vaguely apologetic, but still hot. Robin’s wrangled him into one of her handmade band t-shirts, and Andrew wants to take it off him and kiss him until he’s blue in the face.

“Less talking,” Moreau says. “Let’s play.”

~

“Explain it to me one more time,” Andrew says on the bus ride home, holding a bag of snow to his bruised ego. Eye. Whatever. “I have to defeat your seven protective best friends—”

“Just fight,” Neil corrects. “Not necessarily defeat. In fact, I think your chances of dating me are probably higher if they know they can kick your ass at any time.”

The bus inches its way past the library, snow churning under its wheels. Andrew waves his middle finger at the window just to show it who’s boss.

“Does this have anything to do with your tragic past?”

“Can we not talk about that?”

Neil looks tired. The fluorescent lights swirl his seaweed hair into strange underwater shapes and he blows at a particularly meddlesome curl. It makes a token effort to remove itself from his face before floating serenely back in its former spot.

“Okay,” Andrew says, and promptly forgets every conversation topic ever.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Neil asks.

“Nothing,” Andrew says, his mind still afflicted with utter blankness.

“Cool,” Neil says. “Can I pick you up at six?”

“Pick me up…?”

“For a date,” Neil clarifies, fussing with the hem of his t-shirt. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, what with the league and everything. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I still hate you,” Andrew feels the need to point out. “Six works.”

Neil’s mouth catches a butterfly smile, there and gone.

“Alright,” he says. “This is my stop. See you tomorrow at six, then. Oh, and don’t mind Kevin, he’s an idiot.”

“Kevin?” Andrew asks, dazed, “Kevin who?”

Neil is already out the door. The light of the street lamp next to the bus stop drips over him like melted wax as he puts on his skates. Andrew twists in his seat to watch the little orange pinpricks disappear in the rear window and groans. This does not bode well.

~

The doorbell rings at precisely half past five in the morning. It rings again a minute later, and again, and after the third time someone starts knocking and shouting.

“Andrew Minyard! I know you’re in there!”

Andrew groans and buries his head under his pillow, but Renee snatches it away and manages to roll over to the other side of the mattress with the entirety of their pillows, blankets and, somehow, Andrew’s hoodie. Bereft of warmth, Andrew crawls more than walks over to the door and wrenches it open to face the bane of his existence.

Of course Neil’s Kevin is Kevin Day. Andrew can’t catch a break, can he?

“Fuck off,” Andrew croaks at the neon-clad figure that is obnoxiously glowing up the front step.

“You’re not dressed,” Kevin huffs. “We’re already ten minutes behind schedule.”

“The only thing on my schedule is for you to fuck off,” Andrew says, trying to close the door on him. Kevin muscles his way through on sheer willpower alone and flicks on the light.

“Clothes,” Kevin commands, snapping his fingers. “We are going running.”

“Are you going to fuck off if I do?”

“Yes,” Kevin says. “And I’ll tell you what Neil’s favourite restaurant is.”

Andrew sighs a very long sigh and digs out some of Renee’s luridly patterned thermal leggings from the 80s and a giant hoodie that one of Renee’s one-night stands left behind. It says “Sorry boys, I eat pussy” on the front, but Andrew can’t imagine that anyone is even alive at this hour, not to mention alive and outside where they can see him.

The cold air is brutal; Kevin’s pace even more so. After an hour of relentless torture, Andrew simply sits down on the sidewalk and refuses to go any further.

“It’s been eight minutes,” Kevin tells him, bemused. “We’ve only just warmed up.”

“I am gravely injured,” Andrew wheezes. “My lungs are broken. In at least three places.”

“How do you expect to keep up with Neil if you give up before you’ve even started?” Kevin scolds.

“I don’t,” Andrew says, secretly regretting his decision to sit on the ground. His ass is starting to feel numb. “That’s what he has you for. I’ll just stay in bed and warm him up when he comes back.”

“Happy avocado,” Kevin says.

“What?”

“The Happy Avocado,” Kevin repeats, tapping his foot against a block of ice. “That’s his favourite restaurant. He doesn’t trust avocados because he says they’re vegetables masquerading as fruit but he always makes sex noises at the cheese fries.”

“Sex noises?”

“Are you going to sit here until your ass fuses with the sidewalk?”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “Sex noises?”

“Don’t get too excited, Neil doesn’t put out on the first date.” Kevin looks like he’s calculating something in his head, then adds: “Actually, I don’t think he’s ever put out. Or gone on a second date. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he was interested in men at all, as far as I’m aware he’s kissed a few girls but that’s about it. But don’t let that discourage you.”

“Great,” Andrew says. “Awesome.”

“You’re welcome,” Kevin says, earnestly and pompously, before leaving him behind in the snow to complete his run.

~

Andrew has just heaved himself back into bed when the doorbell rings again.

This time, it’s the leggy blonde from the party. Andrew thinks she’s some kind of celebrity—an actress? A singer?—but he doesn’t really care as long as she makes Renee happy and lets Andrew sleep.

“It’s for you,” Andrew tells Renee around a yawn.

“Hey babe,” Renee calls, puttering about in the kitchen. “Andrew, this is Allison.”

“Mmh,” Allison hums and purses her lips. She slides her oversized sunglasses off her face and looks Andrew up and down, seemingly unimpressed by the most hideous bathrobe in existence which Andrew is only wearing because Renee stole his second hoodie. “Actually, I’m here for you. Kevin said you were done, so we’re going shopping.”

“You could have told me you were sleeping with one of Neil’s best friends,” Andrew calls into the kitchen.

“Tea?” Renee says, popping up with three steaming mugs. Andrew wrinkles his nose. He’d prefer coffee, but there’s only enough left in the tin for one mug, and they have a rule that whoever uses something up has to buy the next refill. They’ve been locked in a stalemate for months, neither willing to give up first, which means tea or hot chocolate are the only viable options right now.

“Thanks, babe.” Allison takes the tea and trades it for a kiss. Andrew looks pointedly down at his mug until they’re done.

“Neil likes tea,” Renee murmurs conspiratorially. Andrew burns his mouth on the hot liquid that tastes vaguely like scented bathwater, but it’s better than nothing. At least there’s caffeine in it.

“This is glorious, babe,” Allison hums, smacking her lips. “What is it?”

“Lavender and lemon rooibos,” Renee beams.

No caffeine, then. Andrew feels betrayed and goes to dump the rest of his tea into the sink, glaring at the almost-empty tin of coffee in passing. There’s no time to wash his hair, so he grabs Renee’s ear-flap hat on his way out the door and quickly checks his reflection in the wing mirror of Allison’s bubblegum pink Porsche. He looks like a hot mess; sadly not the Neil Josten kind of hot mess, but he can’t really bring himself to care.

“Our goal is to find an outfit that Neil can wear tonight,” Allison briefs him on the way to the mall. “If he prefers yours over mine, you win and get to go on the date.”

“Easy,” Andrew scoffs.

It is not easy.

His budget is almost non-existent—a few crumpled bills and wayward coins he finds in his pocket—and the current fashion trends all involve colours that Andrew has a personal feud with. The rest of the menswear section is, as usual, a denim blue hole of mind-numbing boredom, and Andrew is seriously contemplating a sheer-ish black shirt with strategic rips when he’s accosted by Laila and Alvarez.

“Dude,” Alvarez breathes, reverently fingering one of the sleeves of the most hideous bathrobe in existence, which Andrew is still wearing. “This is, like, peak lesbian fashion. I’ll trade you my jacket for it. What do you say?”

She’s wearing a silk bomber jacket the shade of Neil’s hair with embroidered fish and sea creatures on it. Andrew squints at it for a moment, wondering if it’s worth trading the bathrobe for it and thus admitting to Renee that the bathrobe is his. Which it is definitely _not_.

“Come on, dude,” Alvarez wheedles and digs a red lollipop out of her pocket. “I’ll give you my jacket _and_ this lollipop. I need that thing.”

“She really does,” Laila nods.

“I really do,” Alvarez pleads. “Be a darling.”

“Whatever,” Andrew says, shrugging out of the bathrobe. Alvarez has whipped it out of his hands and pulled it on so fast Andrew’s ears are ringing. She twirls in front of her girlfriend and blows him a kiss before disappearing in the nearest coffee shop.

Andrew shrugs into the jacket and goes to find a pair of skinny jeans just roomy enough to fit Neil’s glorious thighs.

~

Neil picks him up at quarter past six. Andrew’s been pacing the living-slash-bedroom of his and Renee’s apartment since ten to, sweating through two of his three clean t-shirts and alternating between putting on a beanie hat and yanking it off again.

“Hi,” Neil says with a crooked half-smile. He’s dyed his hair again, deep space blue this time, but he’s still wearing the jacket and jeans Andrew got him, along with a blue shirt and boots with a rough estimate of 1,376 clasps. “Oh, you cut your hair.”

Andrew immediately regrets that and pulls the beanie back on. Haircuts are always a fiasco. Last time he nearly stabbed Roland with the scissors because he accidentally brushed his fingers down Andrew’s neck. He’s the only one Andrew sort-of trusts to cut his hair for him, though, so he generally tries not to murder him.

“Have fun!” Renee calls after them. “Be safe! Don’t get trampled by a moose!”

The Happy Avocado is a small vegetarian diner near the mall. Neil’s friend Dan works there—she also works at the pizza place and the arcade, and Andrew’s reasonably sure he’s seen her help out at the video store too. She winks at Neil as she hands them their menus and glares threateningly at Andrew, who glares right back.

“I hear the cheese fries are good,” Andrew says casually.

“Yeah,” Neil says. “That’s what I usually get. I don’t like vegetables.”

Andrew skims the menu, which is chock full of vegetables save for the cheese fries and the blueberry smoothie that Neil orders.

“Kevin said this was your favourite restaurant.”

“It is,” Neil says, surprised.

“It’s your favourite restaurant but you only like two things on the menu?”

Neil shrugs.

“Makes it easier to decide.”

Dan comes back with a blueberry smoothie for Neil and a tall, toxic green concoction that she plonks down in front of Andrew with a vicious smile.

“Bottoms up,” she says. “I was originally going to drink you under the table, but Neil said I wasn’t allowed to give you alcohol poisoning. So, kale and kombucha smoothie it is.”

Andrew’s stomach rebels just from looking at the thing. Slowly, he picks it up and sniffs it—a mistake, because the earthy, pickled smell instantly makes him gag.

Dan’s smile widens.

Andrew looks at Neil, drop-dead gorgeous in his new jacket, and thinks _Sex noises_ before holding his breath and downing the disgusting kale smoothie in one horrible go.

It makes his stomach crawl and bloat and the composty taste seems to ferment in his mouth even after it’s all gone. Dan laughs and slaps his back hard enough to make him choke, but Neil looks deeply impressed, soothing his ego. He orders the chilli cheese fries and Andrew does the same, just in case Neil wants to kiss him later, remembering too late that the cheese probably has lactose and the chilli part means it’s spicy.

Great. Awesome. Whatever.

“Enjoy your meal,” Dan pipes, setting their plates down in front of them, along with a glass of milk for Andrew. “Trust me, you’ll need it. Neil has long since burned all his pain receptors off, he doesn’t know how spicy this stuff is.”

“Great,” Andrew says out loud. “Awesome.”

He picks at the fries that aren’t smothered in either cheese or chilli or both. Neil hums around his first bite, then lets out a tiny moan at the second. Andrew doesn’t pay attention to what he’s eating anymore and shoves a forkful of chilli in his mouth, which instantly feels like he’s swallowed a thousand tiny jellyfish.

Andrew hasn’t cried since he was five years old, but he thinks he might be crying now. He can’t tell for sure, because his entire face is numb. Blindly, he grabs for the glass of milk and drinks it down greedily.

Neil laughs. He tries to contain the sound in his palm but it escapes, floating across the table like dandelion seeds and taking root in Andrew’s mind.

“Sorry,” Neil says, mouth twisting sideways with the sticky residue of his amusement. “She must have made it extra spicy just to mess with you. Here, I’ll swap.”

He trades their plates, but Neil’s portion is just as spicy and Andrew gives up. He can already feel the dairy work its evil magic in his stomach, anyway, spurred on by the disgusting smoothie.

Neil finishes both of their fries in record time. He tells Andrew a bit about how he met his seven protective best friends and the places he’s lived before—thirteen countries in total, which tallies with the number of therapists Andrew has gone through. When he tells Neil that, Neil shudders and admits he’s deathly afraid of therapists, to which Andrew admits he’s deathly afraid of spiders.

“I suppose that’s the one advantage to being afraid of therapists,” Neil muses. “They don’t usually come into your house uninvited.”

Andrew pays for their food and suggests going for a walk. Neil puts on his skates, gliding ahead and looping around him, twisting and turning and skating backwards while talking to him. It’s dizzying and intoxicating and Andrew almost forgets about the turmoil in his stomach.

“Why don’t you date?” he asks Neil as they near a silent crossing. The stoplights blink a uniform orange; car tyres have carved smooth, curving paths into the snow like crop circles.

“I’m dating right now,” Neil points out.

“Kevin said you don’t usually.”

Neil turns around smoothly so he faces forwards again and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I never really had much time for it, and I’m not usually interested in people like that.”

“Oh,” Andrew says. Neil shrugs.

“Wanna meet my cats?”

~

Neil’s cats are both indescribably ugly. One of them looks like a very fluffy, very grumpy chicken while the other is spindly and judgmental, giant bulging yellow eyes following Andrew’s every step.

“This is Sir and this is King,” Neil introduces them. “Oh, no, wait; that’s King and that’s Sir. I’m not very good at telling them apart. Tea?”

Andrew mutters an indecisive “yes?” and trails Neil into a small kitchen. Neil opens a cupboard filled top to bottom with boxes of tea and starts listing the different flavours on offer.

“We have… blueberry, raspberry, ginseng, Sleepytime, green tea, green tea with lemon, green tea with lemon and honey, liver disaster, ginger with honey, ginger without honey, vanilla almond, white truffle, blueberry chamomile, vanilla walnut, Constant Comment, and… Earl Grey.”

“Did you make some of those up?”

“I think I’ll have Sleepytime,” Neil hums.

“Okay,” Andrew says at the same time as his stomach emits a loud gurgle. He tries to sit at the kitchen table, but one of the cats has managed to jump on the chair without him noticing. The little goblin hisses and swipes sharp claws at Andrew’s jeans, digging out loose threads.

Neil fills a kettle and wanders off. When he comes back he’s wearing a fluffy purple sweater and plaid pyjama pants that hang loosely on his narrow hips. Andrew wants to press his whole face into Neil’s crotch and never emerge.

“Here,” Neil says, handing over a mug. “King, I already fed you, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Act your age, you silly oaf.”

“Maybe he wants to sit on your lap,” Andrew mutters, gazing wistfully at the lap in question. Neil pats his thigh in invitation and King walks a few more yowly circles before hopping up.

“Just to be clear,” Neil says and blows on his tea. The steam temporarily coils sideways like discarded snakeskin before resuming its path. “I didn’t invite you here to have sex.”

“Okay,” Andrew says.

“Okay,” Neil echoes. “Cool.”

Something soft taps the side of Andrew’s leg. Sir looks up at him through woeful eyes almost hidden by tufts of grey fur.

“You can pick him up,” Neil advises. “He’s too fat to jump on his own, so he tolerates it.”

Andrew wonders what his therapist would say about the emotional maturity of a cat who tolerates help when he needs it.

~

 “Have you done it yet?” Renee greets him when Andrew comes home the next morning. She’s sitting up in bed with the newspaper in her lap, Allison asleep on her right side and Jean Moreau asleep on her left.

“I thought you were a lesbian,” Andrew says. Renee shrugs and hands him a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, like, 99% of the time. Jean bought the coffee, you’re welcome. So? Have you and Neil done it yet?”

“We have done many things,” Andrew says mysteriously, draping himself sideways over the armchair and inhaling his coffee.

“That’s a no then,” Renee concludes, typing something on her phone.

“You aren’t telling Nicky, are you?”

Renee waves her hand in vague circles and lands it in Jean’s hair, petting it fondly. Andrew’s phone rings from the depths of his jeans and he pulls it out, lulled by coffee and a night spent on Neil’s very comfortable couch with the ugliest cat in the world for company.

“I can’t believe you spent the night at Neil Josten’s place and didn’t tap that,” Nicky greets him. “What is going on with you? Is it the L word?”

“Lesbian?” Andrew guesses.

“The other L word.”

“…Lesbians?”

Nicky lets out a gusty sigh.

“I meant love, silly. I’ve never known you to woo anyone.”

“I’m not _wooing_ Neil,” Andrew spits. “I just follow him around and buy him food and fight his protective best friends for him.”

“Yeah, totally wooing,” Nicky says. “Listen, I have to go, Erik and I are planning to have a romantic night in watching the Exy game and lusting over Kevin Day.”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Andrew points out.

“Exactly!” Nicky exclaims cryptically and hangs up. Andrew pulls the crumpled ticket out of his pocket that Neil gave him before he left this morning and pulls a face. On the one hand, if he never sees another Exy racquet again in his life it’ll be too soon. On the other hand, watching Neil run around in shorts and compression leggings for ninety minutes while eating overpriced hot dogs and instigating drama among the Kevin Day fans isn’t the worst way to spend his afternoon.

He spells “Exy sux” with the alphabet magnets on the fridge and smirks. He and Renee have been playing a mutant form of passive-aggressive fridge magnet Scrabble all week and the fact that he used all two of their Xs is going to net him some bonus points. Probably.

The game takes place at the local court. Andrew arrives early enough to snag himself a good seat, which means he also gets to watch Neil warm up. He’s just settled in, munching on his first hot dog and enjoying the view, when a girl clad head to toe in bright neon orange plonks herself down right next to him despite the fact that most of the row is still empty.

“Hi, I’m Katelyn, I’m dating your brother,” she beams. Andrew chokes on his hot dog and slides into the next seat to get away from her bracing pat on the back. Katelyn slides over too and leans in conspiratorially.

“Neil looks good in those shorts, doesn’t he?” Then, without pause, she breaks out into an ear-shattering cheer: “GO, NEIL! GO, FOXES!”

“The other team isn’t even here yet,” Andrew hisses, rubbing his aching ears.

“They need all the support they can get,” Katelyn says blithely and pulls two orange pom-poms from her bag. She hands one to Andrew, who looks at it in disgust.

“Neil’s, like, my best friend,” she gushes. “Take the pom-pom, you’ll need it. NEIL JOSTEN! WHOO! NUMBER TEN!”

Neil actually looks up and grins when he sees her, sending her a little salute. Andrew can see his ador—horrible dimple from up here, except then Katelyn waves back at him with her pom-pom and all he can see is orange.

He looks down at the second pom-pom still lying in his lap.

“Don’t tell me,” he says.

“Oh, I’m telling you,” Katelyn grins. “This is your next challenge. I’m not letting you date my bestie if you can’t sufficiently cheer him on at his favourite sport. Sometimes you have to humiliate yourself a little for the people you love! Although it’s only humiliating if you let it be, you know?”

“I changed my mind,” Andrew says abruptly. “I don’t want to date him after all. This is too much work.”

Katelyn’s face suddenly turns solemn. Even the enormous pile of curls on top of her head seems to droop slightly.

“He’s really not,” she says quietly. “Just because he has some battle scars—”

“Battle scars?”

“He’s a really sweet guy, and he’s totally worth it,” Katelyn sniffs. “And he adopted those ugly cats because no one else wanted them, and he’s, like, a vegetarian and everything.”

“Right,” Andrew says.

“Oh, look, it’s starting!” Katelyn is out of her seat the moment the referees unlock the inner court. Andrew pokes his singular pom-pom and sighs.

Sometimes you have to humiliate yourself a little for the people you lesbians.

~

“I wrote a song about you,” Andrew says from the depths of his beanbag chair. From the depths of Renee’s beanbag chair. Whatever.

He and Neil are camped out at Andrew’s place—Renee’s place, whatever—while Renee is out, most likely having copious amounts of lesbian sex with Allison. It’s snowing outside, the kind of toothpaste-bright snow that makes the night seem a little more indigo than pitch dark.

“Yeah?”

Neil unzips his boots and shrugs out of his coat, revealing thermal leggings and a striped hoodie underneath. Andrew rubs his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get rid of the sudden dryness and plucks at the strings of his guitar.

“Yeah. It goes like this,” Andrew says, playing a dissonant chord, then another. Then he says “Neil, Neil, oh Neil” in a very deadpan voice and plays another few dissonant chords.

“Wow,” Neil laughs. “Can’t wait to hear it when it’s finished.”

“Finished?”

“How about dinner?” Neil asks, wandering over to the fridge to inspect the ongoing Scrabble game. He changes Andrew’s “Exy sux” to “Exy rox” and sends a winning smile over his shoulder along with his devastating dimple.

“How do you feel about garlic bread,” Andrew says.

They make garlic bread and eat it on the floor, their knees touching gently. Neil turns on the TV to watch one of Kevin’s interviews and they spend a pleasant half hour making fun of him and letting their knees continue to touch. It stops snowing, so Neil suggests going for a walk again, which means Neil skates and Andrew tries to keep up without falling on his face on the slippery streets. They reach the old castle and Neil is only slightly out of breath from skating uphill while Andrew is coughing out his lungs. The ice-cold air burns against his skin, dry like sandpaper.

Snow has piled up on the swings, but Neil pats them down and makes a few failed attempts at pushing himself back and forth with his skates. Andrew catches the chains and waits for a nod from him before pulling the swing back and letting go. Neil lurches forward, laughing in filthy delight as he hurtles jerkily through the air.

“Higher!” he commands. Andrew misses his next swing because he’s too busy trying to determine if his fingers still have any life in them. When he puts his hands on Neil’s back to give him another push, the fabric underneath them is warm and the knowledge that in this moment a few layers of cloth are all that’s separating them is enough to jolt feeling back in Andrew’s frozen limbs.

He drops down onto the second swing, facing the other way from Neil and rocking the swing back and forth for a bit while Neil slowly loses his momentum.

“Katelyn said something about you having battle scars or whatever,” Andrew says once Neil’s back in his orbit, skates scrabbling ineffectually at the ground. Neil frowns, blue strands poking out from under his beanie hat. The cold air greedily wicks the hot breath from his lips.

“Renee said the same about you,” isn’t quite what Andrew expected to hear. They both swing back and forth a little, out of sync, chasing flighty thoughts into snow drifts.

“Is there a rule,” Neil wonders, sliding to a rocky stop, “about garlic bread and kissing? Because I feel like it’d be fine if both parties had garlic bread first and then kissed, rather than if just one of them did. But I haven’t kissed that many people, so…”

“It’s fine,” Andrew says hastily. “Definitely, totally fine.”

“Oh, good,” Neil says. “Because I really want to kiss you right now. Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” Andrew breathes, almost forgetting how to shape his mouth around the word. He digs his heels into the snow and leans in, sending Neil spinning; Neil laughs and grabs the chain on Andrew’s swing, and Andrew grabs Neil’s collar, and together they somehow manage to reel each other in.

The kiss is cold and stiff at first, then Neil’s mouth ripens under Andrew’s, softening and bruising like a peach. Andrew’s thumb brushes over the day-old fuzz on his jaw, over and over again, his spine bristling with pleasure at the sensation. Neil sighs through his nose and lets the kiss peter off into smaller, sweeter, wetter kisses, first on Andrew’s mouth, then travelling slowly sideways and up, following invisible paths where Andrew had thought only wilderness before.

“Suppose you’re right,” Neil mumbles, nudging his nose against Andrew’s. “About the garlic.”

“I’m always right about garlic,” Andrew mutters, dazed.

~

“Andrew Minyard!” the giant in Neil’s kitchen shouts. “We meet at last.”

“Andrew, this is Matt,” Neil says, already carrying a cat. “Technically my roommate, but he usually stays with Dan.”

Matt is in the process of baking something if the level of flour dust in the air and the pink apron he’s wearing are any indication. Cartoon cupcakes march up and down the fabric, exclaiming things like “Yummy!” and “Delish!” and “Die Andrew Minyard die”. Or maybe that’s Andrew’s dyslexia acting up. Whatever.

“I’m Neil’s best BFF forever,” Matt tells Andrew cheerfully.

“Isn’t that kind of extra?”

“You can never have too many Bs or Fs in BFF,” Matt laughs, cracking two eggs with one hand. “Look, I know Jean made it seem very dramatic, but I’ll be perfectly straightforward with you. All you have to do is beat me at arm-wrestling. Three rounds, may the best man win.”

“Andrew’s too strong,” Neil says, bemused. “You’ll never win against him, Matt.”

Andrew tries and fails not to preen. He follows Matt to the kitchen table, which is covered in flour. Matt smirks and sets his elbow on the table.

“May the best man win,” he repeats. Andrew grabs his hand and wastes no time in slamming it onto the table without ceremony. Matt winces, then laughs.

“Alright, alright, you caught me unawares. Let’s go again.”

They go again. It takes a little bit longer this time, but Andrew forces Matt’s arm down again, and then again for the last round. Matt shrugs good-naturedly and goes back to his baking project while Neil carefully deposits his cat on a chair and gestures for Andrew to follow him to his room.

“That was amazing,” he breathes once they’re alone. “You were amazing.”

“Shut up,” Andrew tells him.

“Shame,” Neil sighs, “I was just about to ask you if we could kiss some more.”

“Fine,” Andrew says. “But only so you’ll stop pestering me.”

~

“I can’t fucking believe you still went after Neil even though I explicitly told you not to,” Aaron snaps the moment Andrew steps into the coffee shop.

“Caramel macchiato,” Andrew says.

“Nicky says you haven’t even done it yet,” Aaron goes on, angrily making his coffee. “Can you at least get it over with so Neil’s eleven protective best friends can beat you up and we can all move on?”

“Seven.”

“Seven, eleven, whatever. As always, you’re messing with my life just by existing,” Aaron laments. “Here’s your fucking coffee, fuckwad.”

“When were you going to tell me you had a girlfriend?” Andrew asks, withholding the money for the coffee so Aaron has to either answer or pay for his coffee out of his own pocket, both of which are fine with Andrew.

“Preferably never,” Aaron grumbles. “You wouldn’t have let me keep her anyway. And now you’re dating Neil fucking Josten, you fucking hypocrite.”

“Alright, Nega Ninja,” Andrew scoffs and painstakingly counts out the horribly overpriced three dollars seventy-five for the coffee. “Keep the change.”

“There’s no change, asshole!”

Andrew flips him off and takes his coffee outside. The snow has turned into sludge and he wanders around aimlessly for a while, ending up at Jeremy’s house out of habit. Jeremy got them a gig for tonight and he’s already bouncing off the walls with excitement. Andrew times how long it takes him to go from caffeine frenzy to existential dread—slightly longer than last time, but not as long as that time Alvarez brought her special brownies—and texts Neil to invite him to the gig.

Neil doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t show up at Lee’s Palace for the concert or the crappy afterparty that Jeremy drags them to. He doesn’t even join them for midnight pizza, where Alvarez and Laila debate if they should replace Andrew with Jean Moreau as their bassist while Jeremy’s face goes through the seven stages of grief as he realises he totally wants to replace Andrew with Jean but it goes against his personal ethics to do so. Andrew sits on the table while they bicker and plays the bassline from Final Fantasy until they all get kicked out.

Andrew doesn’t hear from Neil for a week.

He definitely, totally doesn’t spend the week moping. Renee tolerates his not-moping until he eats her entire jar of Nutella by himself and orders an empty aquarium online just to see Neil when he delivers it, except there’s a new delivery guy and Neil never shows up. Renee takes one look at Andrew’s face and drags him to the gym for a sparring session, where she proceeds to seriously kick his ass for a couple of hours. Aching, bruised and gasping for breath, Andrew finally submits to the indignity of surrender. Renee smiles beatifically, then rolls off him and pats her face dry with a towel.

“There,” she says, barely even out of breath, “now you’ve fought all of us.”

“All of—seriously? All this time?” Andrew groans. “Could’ve fucking told me.”

“I’ve told you about my friend Neil multiple times,” Renee points out. “You just weren’t interested before you knew he was hot.”

“Renee,” Andrew says as a terrible realisation dawns on him. Or maybe that’s just the nausea from eating an entire jar of Nutella before a sparring session. “I think I’m in lesbians with him.”

“Look,” Renee tells him with a pitying look, “all I’m saying is, if Neil hadn’t wanted to date you, none of us would have even bothered to fight you. As fun as this has been, I think it’s time you told him that you want to give him expensive cars and blowjobs and raise many ugly kittens with him.”

“And hug his thighs like a pair of thermal leggings,” Andrew says.

“And hug his thighs like a pair of thermal leggings,” Renee echoes dutifully.

“I can’t,” Andrew sighs. “He hates me. I think I was wrong about the garlic.”

“You’re never wrong about garlic. Also, I need you to move out. Allison and I decided to be girlfriends and I’m going to need my place to myself from now on.”

Cautiously, Andrew tries rolling on his side. It hurts like hell, so he stays on the floor for a bit longer and feels sorry for himself.

“You should ice that,” Renee tells him.

“Ice what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything.”

His heart, maybe. Andrew winces and pushes himself halfway upright.

He owes Renee a jar of Nutella. And probably a lot of other things, too.

~

“Hey,” Andrew says when Neil opens the door.

“Hey,” Neil says hoarsely. He’s dyed his hair again, a reddish sunset brown that makes him look unusually pale. Neil sees him looking and tugs awkwardly on the strands, stepping aside to let him in.

He makes tea—blueberry this time—and folds himself onto a kitchen chair like an origami crane in pyjama pants, chewing on the strings of his hoodie. It’s black, with tiny cat ears on the hood, and Andrew would probably steal it if Neil wasn’t wearing it right now.

“You disappeared,” he finally says.

“Yeah,” Neil says weakly. “I do that.”

Andrew curls his hands around the mug.

“Was it the garlic?”

The vaguest hint of a smile ghosts across Neil’s lips.

“No,” he says wryly. “You were right about the garlic.”

He sighs, rubbing his hands across his face, and listlessly stirs a spoonful of honey into his tea.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I find it hard to be around myself sometimes. I didn’t want to expose you to that.”

“Nega Ninja,” Andrew says under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Andrew says. “Being alone with your worst self is hard. Eating a lot of Nutella and letting your best friend beat the crap out of you helps a bit, though.”

“I dye my hair,” Neil admits. “I thought it’d be a good idea to try going back to my natural colour. Turns out it was a terrible idea.”

Andrew reaches out and carefully tugs the cat ear hoodie over Neil’s head.

“There,” he says.

Neil pulls his sleeves over his hands and hides another half-smile behind them. They finish their tea, and then Andrew takes Neil to the arcade with him. Usually he plays with Robin, but Robin’s in school right now, so Neil will just have to do. They play several rounds of Ninja-Ninja Revolution until Neil finally beats the Nega Ninja and the dimple is back in full force, restored to its usual degree of devastation.

Next, they buy some fish for Andrew’s empty aquarium, and about a hundred different cat toys for Neil’s cats. There’s a grimy pinboard by the exit of the pet shop and Andrew spots a roommate wanted ad, signed by one Aaron Minyard.

“Hey, fuckface,” Andrew says when Aaron picks up the phone. “I’m moving in with you. And you can keep your stupid girlfriend or whatever if you let me keep Neil.”

“I hate you,” Aaron says, which is as good as an agreement.

“Hate you too, little bro,” Andrew shrugs.

“You don’t even know which of us was born first—”

Andrew hangs up. A second later, his cousin calls him.

“So I hear you and Neil are _together_ together now,” Nicky says breathlessly.

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Neil told me.”

Andrew whirls around, finding Neil on his phone. Neil smirks and waves, then goes back to texting Nicky, who has an uncanny ability to text and talk at the same time.

“I’m so happy for you,” Nicky gushes. “I’m so happy I could hug you forever.”

“Don’t,” Andrew warns.

“In spirit,” Nicky amends hastily. “Good luck with the goldfish. I have some suggestions for names if you want them.”

“I don’t,” Andrew says.

“Yeah, anyway, I was thinking Sir Gold Fish McFisherson, King Blubkins…”

“Bye,” Andrew says and hangs up. Then he turns his phone off, collects an entirely too smug Neil and wheels him outside on his entirely too smug skates.

“I like the names,” Neil informs him. “Goes well with my cats. Maybe we should introduce them some time.”

“Maybe not,” Andrew says. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Cheese fries?” Neil suggests hopefully.

“I’m not kissing you if you get those infernal chilli ones.”

“They might do garlic instead if you ask nicely,” Neil smirks.

“Fine,” Andrew concedes. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated <3
> 
> Am on Tumblr [here](https://annawrites.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi.


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